


cold

by lipsstainedbloodred



Series: these are the ways that i love you [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Episode 159, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: The thing about the cold is that when it starts, it starts off subtle.Or, the fic where Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: these are the ways that i love you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553053
Comments: 7
Kudos: 196





	cold

**Author's Note:**

> takes place chronologically before touch and hold

The thing about the cold is that when it starts, it starts off subtle. It is the creep of fog at the edge of the horizon, something you barely notice as it starts to swirl its way around your ankles, your knees, your hips; something you do not acknowledge until you are up to the neck and you start to _choke_. So no, Martin didn’t realize just how cold the Lonely was until after he had been fully submerged in it.

Until Jon had cupped his cheek and held his hand.

The _warmth_ that curled through those two soft, gentle points of contact could have burned right through him, had Martin still been able to feel anything at all.

“Martin. He’s gone, Martin. He- he’s gone.”

Have you ever had a sleepover? Did you ever play that game where you tied two cups to a string to make a telephone? There’s a kind of muffled, reverberation that comes from that. A voice traveling across a lowly piece of string. That’s how Jon sounds, like he’s talking into a cup in the next room over.

Martin’s eyes fix on the sand, unseeing. “His only wish was to die alone.” He doesn’t notice Jon’s hand pass through his, like a ghost. The fog creeps and swirls, covering and burying the bloodied sand of what was left of Peter Lukas under its weight.

“ _Tough_.” Jon snarls. Martin thinks it might be a snarl, anyway, it’s too hard to focus. “Now - listen to me, Martin. Listen.”

Static, like a radio station fading in and out. The words right there under the noise but blurred, unfocused. Jon is made of static. His hands reach for Martin and grasp nothing but fog. “Hello, Jon.” 

“Listen, I know you _think_ you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer, and well - well, maybe it is. But we need you. _I_ need you.” Jon’s voice cracks a little and his hand is once again warm and solid against Martin’s face.

It feels like the words are pulled from him but there is no pain here. There has never been pain here. It is so quiet, so comforting in its bone chilling silence. “No, you don’t. Not really. Everyone’s alone, but we all survive-”

“I don’t just want to _survive_!”

There is something so desperately human in that cry. Martin almost feels a pang of sympathy, but there is nothing there. “I’m sorry.” It feels like the right thing to say, anyway.

“Martin.” Jon’s hands clutch desperately now, but it’s like trying to catch vapor. “Martin, look at me.” They connect and Martin’s head is tilted down to look Jon in the eyes. “Look at me and tell me what you see.” There’s a crackle there and Jon’s eyes are so _bright_.

It’s like- it feels like sunshine. Like the first tentative days of spring. It’s so bright and so warm that it thaws.

“I see…” Martin looks, properly, for the first time. Jon is so hard to look at and he is so very bright, but he is the only clear thing that Martin can see. Around them the fog rolls back and lifts itself from Martin’s eyes. “I see you, Jon.” Reverence drips down his spine like honey. Jon is covered in a thousand invisible all-seeing eyes, and he has turned that gaze back onto himself. He is the only thing Martin can see, the only thing he cares about. 

He can feel Jon’s heartbeat in the palm on his cheek, hummingbird fast. His eyes are wide but focused, determined. He looks exhausted, frightened, and tentatively hopeful. Martin has always wondered what Jon would look like in love, and seeing it directed at himself makes him laugh in disbelief.

“I _see_ you.” 

All of him. Flayed open, raw and exposed like a nerve. 

“Martin.” Jon says, and it sounds like he’d been holding his breath.

Martin blinks and all at once the glow in Jon’s eyes fades. He stands there for a moment, the two images superimposed over each other. Like staring at a light and then looking abruptly away, the ghost of it still at the forefront of your sight. Jon with his bright eyes, all thousand of them, and Jon without them. His breath catches in his throat and all at once he’s hit with the weight of his mistakes and missteps. The tears come soon after, and his body shakes with them.

Jon’s arms around him soothe and hurt in equal measure, like sticking your hand under hot water after having it sat in the snow for an hour. A painful relief. 

“I...I was on my own. I was all on my own.” 

“Not anymore.” Jon says. And he must be standing on his tip-toes because his lips are right next to Martin’s ear. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

 _Home_. Martin isn’t sure he has a home, anymore. He’s not really sure any of them do after the mess they’ve been in for the past several months. 

“How?”

“Don’t worry. I know the way.” Jon says, and when he pulls back it’s only so that he can slip his hand into Martin’s and lead him along the shoreline in silence.


End file.
